Night Winds

by Gwyneth Atlee

  No. It couldn’t be. It must have been the dust that choked her. This couldn’t be her mother’s cameo! Yet how could there be another such as this? With a trembling hand, she lifted it, allowing the golden chain to sparkle in the late afternoon sun. Despite a bit of grime, the necklace looked as beautiful as Shae remembered. The pendant’s rich, red-brown carnelian still reminded Shae of blood-bonds, hers to her mother, her mother’s to Ireland. Atop it, layers of creamy ivory depicted the profile of a woman’s head, her tresses curved around her as if with a breeze. A larger brass oval framed the portrait with delicate, intertwined shapes of leaves, flowers, grapes, and exquisite filigree. The quivering of Shae’s hand spread to her entire body. She was certain. Mother’s! This had to be her Mother’s pendant after all!

  Tears blurred the cameo’s outlines, then rolled freely down Shae’s face. Her heart threatened to pound its way through the confines of her chest. Breath came in ragged gulps. The only thing that Glennis took had been her jewelry. So had her mother sent this? Why now? Why at all?

  With fingers that trembled until they, too, blurred in her vision, Shae reached into the carpetbag again. Desperately, she felt about the crumbling leaves until she brushed the uneven margin of torn paper. She lifted it, then wiped her eyes so she might read.

  It’s not what you think. That was all. No signature, no words of explanation. Just five words scrawled across a torn, old strip of paper. Five words to change her life.

  Shae flipped over the scrap and found its back side blank, then turned it again to be sure the words remained. Thin pen-strokes scuttled like crab legs across the fragment; the handwriting looked rushed. And vaguely familiar. Where had she seen it before this?

  Might it be Lucius’s? She tried to picture his script and decided it was possible. He’d had the opportunity as well. After all, he had been last to leave the shop. And he’d left under such wretched circumstances. But if he had held her mother’s cameo, surely he would have given it to her before. Wouldn’t he? Why would he have kept it until the day that he was fired?

  Tucking the scrap inside the jewelry sack, she replaced it inside the frayed carpetbag, then untied and climbed aboard the horse. Nausea and confusion competed for attention. Her head ached as her thoughts began to spin out of control. She had to get away from here, to think in peace before her father spied her. Heaven only knew what he might say if he saw this. Heaven only knew how it might hurt him.

  Is that what it was meant for? Could it be a message to wound King? Or was it meant to comfort her? Or neither? Had someone else merely found the necklace and decided to be cruel? Dozens of questions detonated in Shae’s head, each one more disturbing than the last. Before she could begin to form a plan, her mare was trotting, of her own volition, toward Austin Street and the prospect of a meal.

  There must be something at her family’s home, Shae thought. There had to be. Something, anything, to begin answering the questions. Something to help her mind shout down the suspicion she could not yet bear to put in words. The nameless one that had haunted her nightmares from the first, six years ago. The one she’d never quite been able to deny.

  Time, today, to stop pretending. It was time to give that fear a name, to wonder if her mother had really run away at all. Or had her father killed her and then covered up his crime? As if the thought lifted a floodgate, all the pieces seemed to flow together now: the change in King’s demeanor from difficult to dreadful, her mother’s disappearance without possessions or goodbyes, the fact that, in all these years, Shae had never heard a word from anyone to let her know that Glennis Rowan lived.

  Overwhelmed by emotion, Shae pulled the horse to a reluctant stop. Heedless of the mare’s past mischief, she let the reins drop, then slid down and vomited into the gutter. Though she sensed eyes on her, she couldn’t bring herself to look up at the rows of white frame houses. Instead, she staggered like a drunk back toward Delilah, who spooked at her approach, as if she’d never seen Shae. Shae wasted several minutes catching the vexing beast.

  After her sudden bout of illness, Shae felt different. Empty of her fears and numb. She slipped her foot into the stirrup and once more pulled herself into the sidesaddle. She knew she could go on now, could go back to the house and bear to look. She would do it because she must. Because she could no longer hide from her suspicions. Because she had to know the truth.

  *

  The moment Phillip saw his two sisters together, involved in solemn conversation, a chill of premonition dashed up his spine. Ordinarily, without Mother here to force them together, the twins quite naturally avoided one another at most times. They may have shared a womb once, but for years Justine and Lydia had recognized that they had little else in common.

  Even more alarming, when Lydia looked up, her dark eyes glittered brightly, as if with exultation over someone else’s disaster. Beside her, Justine’s brow wrinkled with concern.

  “Phillip, please come in and sit with us,” Lydia invited.

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened? Did you receive some sort of note? Or is Mother ill, or

  Rachel ?”

  “Of course not,” Justine interrupted, but her expression assured him this conversation would be nearly as painful. “They’re in perfect health.”

  “I know about Rachel because I saw her just this morning,” Lydia barreled on, apparently oblivious to the gentling hand her twin placed on her arm.

  “Then she’s safely home.” Phillip sighed relief. Sometimes Lydia could be so ridiculous. This was nothing after all.

  “I heard,” continued Lydia, “that Rachel never left town in the first place.”

  “Don’t be ludicrous. She’s been away for weeks.” Though his words came in a torrent, Phillip almost instantly felt the room grow warm and close.

  “In hiding, so it seems.”

  “Lydia, have a care,” warned Justine.

  “If there’s some accusation you would bring, I’d like to hear it.” Phillip frowned down at both sisters and tried to ignore what sounded too much like his own suspicions. Still, he continued, adding heat to his denial. “Then we can get past whatever nonsense you’ve dreamed up.”

  “It isn’t nonsense,” Lydia insisted. “I’ve heard she’s quite upset about this labor rubbish, and about a certain member of society’s betrothal.”

  “Why would she care about anyone’s engagement? The two of us are to be married in the spring. We’re in love,” Phillip said, thinking all the while of his unanswered letters, his unacknowledged gifts. Did he only hope that she still loved him? Was he just pretending he was certain he loved her?

  “She only agreed to marry you after Ethan Lowell made other plans.”

  “Wherever did you hear such vile gossip? How dare you repeat it in my presence?” Now he knew she was deluded, if she would believe his fiancée felt any affection for his friend. How many times had he and Rachel argued over her refusal to accompany him on the El Dorado or even to a dinner where Ethan was expected? Though she would never explain her reasons, it had long been clear that Rachel despised Ethan.

  Justine reached up for his arm and tried to pull him to the sofa. “Please, Phillip, I think you need to listen.”

  His limbs stiffened at her words. Justine apparently felt there was something to this beyond Lydia’s typical drivel. Though he refused to sit down by his more sensible sister, he managed to resist an impulse to stride out of the room. Despite a fresh breeze, the room was sweltering. Phillip felt sweat trickle down his back.

  Lydia continued, her words scorching and relentless. “There’s more, Phillip. I heard weeks ago that she was still here, but Justine wouldn’t dream of telling you without some proof. Why, she even told me she’d have nits put in my hairbrush if I tried!”

  Phillip managed a wooden nod toward Justine. He could scarcely imagine the theatrics involved in Lydia’s reaction to that threat. He wished Justine could have found a muzzle, too, to prevent Lydia from saying one more word.

  But there wa
s no force that could stop her onslaught now. “Then, finally, this morning I caught her or them, I should say, walking together on the grounds of the Tisdale House.” Lydia waited like an actress pausing for effect, then found her voice once more. “I thought at first he was a workman, because of the old clothes. Then I realized it was Ethan with her. They were walking close and holding hands. Oh, Phillip, she was preening shamelessly! I was horrified.”

  “Horrified, or thrilled that your spying at last bore fruit? You know, there’s probably some perfectly innocent explanation. Perhaps Ethan was counseling her about this trouble I’ve been having.” Yes, that must be it. How reasonable that theory sounded.

  “He kissed her. Held her close before they parted.”

  “I refuse to believe it. You’re simply lying to upset me. You’ve always delighted in rumors. For all I know, you’ve made this up to ingratiate yourself with your fickle friends. I won’t have Rachel’s name and mine ruined, Lydia. I won’t stand for these lies.” He felt vaguely like a candle, melting. Despite the heat, a nauseating chill ripped through his center.

  Late afternoon sunlight slanted through a window and glistened off a tear-trail on his sister’s face. “You’re not being fair. I’ve never lied to you,” Lydia insisted. “And I didn’t follow her so I could gossip. I just wanted to protect you. I know you’d rather I turned into Justine. She’s always been your favorite. But I love you, Phillip. I couldn’t bear to imagine Rachel deceiving you. I haven’t told another soul, I swear it. And I won’t, either. Not one other person.”

  “Hasn’t Lydia yet proven her loyalty to you?” Justine asked. “Haven’t we both?”

  It was the only reference Justine had ever made to their staying here to support him, when Mother fled to New Orleans. For Justine the choice had been simple. Society had no power to snub a young woman who deliberately chose isolation. But Lydia had been caught up in a whirlwind of dance and parties and elegant dresses that highlighted her dark beauty. She had agonized, but she had chosen Phillip.

  Now she lifted her head proudly, tears still streaming down her face. And in that moment fear weakened Phillip’s knees. He moved between the girls and then sank to the sofa, sure that as she saw it, Lydia must be telling him the truth.

  “Perhaps you should go and talk to Rachel,” Justine suggested, her voice soft as the breeze now ruffling Mother’s roses just outside the window.

  The flowers’ sweet scent grew overwhelming, reminding Phillip of their father’s funeral, reminding him of rotting meat.

  He nodded at her and shifted his gaze toward Lydia. Since Father had died, she’d doted on him, always hungry for approval. Too often he withheld it, for at times her immaturity nearly drove him mad. He paused, trying to remember that she was just eighteen years old. Despite his confusion over his fiancée, his terror at the sickening ring of truth in Lydia’s story, he couldn’t crush his sister. He loved her far too fiercely.

  He reached for her, embraced her tightly. “I hope to God you’re wrong about Rachel. That’s all. I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’ve never meant to make you think I value Justine more than you. I love your wit, your enthusiasm. I can’t imagine our house without you in it. It’s just that . . .”

  She squeezed him, and the gesture helped him choose his words.

  “It’s just that,” he continued, “words can hurt. Sometimes you seem so amused by other people’s disasters. This is my life, Lydia. I may be a man, and I may be twenty-eight years old, but if what you say is true, I’ll have to reconsider . . . everything.”

  Another squeeze, and Justine embraced him from the other side. After kissing each dark head, he pulled away.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must call on my fiancée.”

  *

  Shae almost bumped into the hired woman near the back steps. Eva’s coffee-colored skin gleamed beneath a layer of sweat, testimony to an afternoon spent scrubbing, if Shae knew Aunt Alberta. The woman’s dark gaze flicked impatiently past Shae, as if she could barely wait to leave.

  “Don’t know how you stands that woman, Miss Shae,” Eva muttered as she untied her apron. She made a wad of it and used it to mop her forehead. “Some days, I pray the Good Lord I don’t just up and snatch her bald-headed.”

  Despite her worries, Shae pictured tiny Eva, who might weigh ninety pounds if she were soaked in syrup, leaping atop Alberta’s back and ripping hair. Fortunately, her aunt was in no danger. Eva had been muttering threats to Shae for years, but she had too many mouths to feed at home to risk this job.

  Thinking of the way her aunt ordered the black woman about, Shae shook her head in sympathy. “Some days I think the Lord might understand.”Eva covered a flash of dazzling ivory teetha silent burst of laughter with one hand. Shae noticed the skin appeared chafed and inflamed.

  “Would you like me to talk to her again?” Shae asked. She shifted the dusty carpetbag beneath her other arm.

  “Lordy, no. She ridin’ me already like a devil woman. Much trouble as you in lately, she put on spurs if you do that.”

  “You’re probably right,” Shae agreed. “She’s still mad at me, then.”

  “You could say that, Missy. She been growling your name like a old dog at a bone. You stay out of her way, you hear?”

  “I plan on trying.” Shae hesitated, wondering if she should ask the question on her mind. After all, Eva had worked in this house for eight years.

  The Negro woman nodded a curt goodbye and turned to go.

  “Did you know my mother very well?” Shae’s question escaped without her conscious decision and stopped Eva in her tracks.

  She turned around slowly. “Why you askin’ me that, after all this time?”

  Shae shrugged. “I miss her today. Maybe because of everything that happened last night. I wonder if I’d be different if she’d stayed.”

  Eva leaned against the railing at the bottom step. “You still the same stubborn child as ever, that’s all. Nothin’ gonna change that, thank the Lord. Inside you, there more starch than blood and tears. Your mama knowed it, too. That the reason you strong enough to stay here.”

  “Is that why she ran off?”

  Eva’s snort was pure derision. “What the matter with you today? You just feelin’ pitiful, that’s all. Course not. You know your mama love you. She love you just like I loves my three boys. If she could be here, she would. I expect she can’t. Couldn’t take that woman, likely.” With the last statement, Eva jerked her head in the direction of the house and Aunt Alberta.

  Then how could Mother have left her here, in this same hell, Shae wondered miserably. Hadn’t Shae always listened to her mother? Hadn’t she even kept her secret when she’d accidentally learned of one of Glennis’s affairs? Did her mother think that she was lying when she’d sworn she’d never tell? Hadn’t she realized how very much that silence had cost Shae?

  “I best be goin’,” Eva said. “Got to get home to my boys ‘fore she thinks of somethin’ else needs scrubbin’.”

  “Goodbye, and thank you, Eva,” Shae called after her. Never much for small talk, Eva didn’t linger.

  Nor did Shae. She turned toward the house, her mind full of the black woman’s few words. More starch than blood and tears. She grimaced, thinking how much that sounded like her mother.

  Still favoring her injured foot, Shae hobbled up the back steps. When she entered the back door, dread sharpened each sense to an unnatural focus. She paused to listen for her aunt like a mouse might listen for a veteran cat.

  Clutched in her left hand, caked dirt on the old carpetbag made her skin itch and prickle. In contrast, the fussy smells of soap and wood oil stung her nostrils, and she had to stifle yet another sneeze. She paused to raise a window in the dining room, then another in the parlor. Stop stalling, she warned herself. She was wasting precious time on inconsequential tasks to keep from doing what she must.

  Moving through the house as quietly as possible, she opened more windows and allowed the quality of lig
ht to distract her. She could barely tear her gaze from its reflection off each long, pointed oleander leaf in the back yard, the way it filtered through the pink, translucent blossoms of the nearby bougainvillea. Late afternoon light, rich and yellow, somewhat softer than the burning rays of August. Good painting light but not today, she realized, as she turned from her distractions. Today, she must face her fears instead.

  While she’d opened windows, she heard neither voice nor footstep to help her place her aunt. With any luck, Alberta hadn’t heard her come inside. Surely, she was lurking somewhere close-by at this hour. In her own room, more than likely, doing needlework or reading a copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book. The old woman was probably studying the latest points of etiquette and plotting hopeless strategies to force them onto Shae.

  With her heart tucked in her throat, Shae crept forward. Still no other footsteps, not even the sound of quiet humming. Good. Alberta might even be asleep upstairs. Soon, Shae stood at the doorway of her father’s study. She had never entered it before. A man deserved a goddam place where he could have some peace and quiet. King’s admonition echoed like a memory of thunder. Though she’d been young, Shae still remembered how he’d frightened her, and how emphatically she’d promised she would never go inside.

  Dare she break that vow?

  She frowned, thinking of her own sanctuary above, on the second floor. With her painting, with her birds. She forced her mind to focus on her beach scene, now a smeared stain on the hardwood, on her birds, reduced to feathered bits of clay. He’d violated her privacy first, she told herself. He had trespassed and destroyed. All she meant to do was have a look around, be certain there was nothing here to . . .

  A memory of her mother’s smile intruded, along with the warm pressure of a kiss upon Shae’s cheek.

  “Be a good lass, Shae. Won’t that essay you wrote set those lofty boys on their ears? I shouldn’t be surprised if you take top honors in composition this year.” As Shae prepared to leave for school, nothing about Glennis’s embrace marked it as different. Nothing had marked it as the last time Shae would feel her mother’s touch.